


Not Quite in the History Books

by Black_Tailed_Gull (ExpatGirl)



Series: Everything on the Ice [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Nudity, Young Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/pseuds/Black_Tailed_Gull
Summary: Viktor recounts his rather...unique...version of a housewarming ritual.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **A note on names:** I go with 'Yuri' rather than the more phonetic 'Yuuri', like I'd normally do, because that's how the character himself writes it. I go with 'Viktor' rather than 'Victor' and 'Makkachin' rather than 'Maccachin' because of the Slavic hard 'c' sound. YMMV, of course.
> 
> So, I saw [**this**](https://engelen.tumblr.com/post/157089929046/hes-18) piece of fan art and, friends, I couldn't _not_. I just couldn't. (NSFW, btw.)

“What was it like,” Viktor asks, bending toward the mirror to adjust the knot in his tie, “living in America?”

“Hm?” He hears Yuri spit the toothpaste from his mouth and a moment later he’s leaning back until he can see Viktor clearly through the door.

“America,” Viktor says again, removing the tie—the weave is too heavy for the late spring day—and making his way to the closet. “You lived there for...five years, yes?”

“That’s right,” Yuri says.

Viktor hears the soft _oof_ sound as he sits on the bed, and glances behind him. Yuri has yet to change out of the clothes he wore to bed: dark boxer shorts and a grey t-shirt with an alarming hole in one shoulder and the initials of Yuri’s alma mater across the chest. It’s the t-shirt that’s opened this particular line of questioning.

“I liked it,” Yuri says. “I mean, I slept for the first two weeks, and I was too scared to talk to anyone in case my English wasn’t good enough...”

“Your English is perfect!” Viktor protests.

" _Now_ it is.” Yuri clasps his hands behind his back and straightens his arms, stretching extravagantly. “But learning in a classroom and using it in real life are different. You know that.”

“True.” He turns back to the closet. The ties vex him. He has too many, and none are the right color. _Why_ does he even have that polka dot one at all? Had it been a gift? Has he ever even worn it?

“But after I got to the rink, and met Phichit, things started to improve. I had a lot of fun, mostly. Sophomore year, we moved in together and it was—” Viktor can hear the laughter in his voice, and finds himself smiling in response—”It was good.”

“You didn’t get...homesick?”

“What? No, I got homesick all the time. Especially whenever I’d make the mistake of eating a candy bar...have you ever _had_ American chocolate?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, sadly. “Yes, I have.”

“Exactly!” Yuri falls back onto the bed, looking at the ceiling. “The pizza, though...” He trails off, lost in thought.

“I’ve never had it,” Viktor says, even more sadly.

Yuri sits bolt upright. “ _What?_ How...how is that possible?”

“I’ve only ever been to America to compete,” Viktor sighs. He abandons the search for an appropriate tie altogether, and settles on unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, instead. The receptionist  will enjoy that, probably. The way Yuri’s eyes linger at the hollow of his throat suggests that he enjoys it, too. Viktor undoes another button.  “And once for a photoshoot. Lilia was very strict about what I could eat during the season. It was Georgi who snuck me the chocolate. God knows how he got it past her.”

“One time, Phichit and I drove all the way to Chicago just to get pizza.” Yuri grabs his hand and pulls him down onto the bed. “We’ll go to my class reunion,” Yuri says, with a kiss like a mint spark, “and I’ll take you to the place we used to go to after practice.”

“I’d like that.” Viktor smiles against the side of Yuri’s mouth. He feels the day pull at him, but the warmth of Yuri’s hand on his hip is compelling. “I’m glad you had someone who helped you feel at home.”

What did Phichit like, Viktor wonders suddenly. Hamsters, if his social media account was anything to go by, but Viktor couldn’t very well send him live hamsters. Or could he? Was there, perhaps, some sort of hamster delivery service? No, he decides, that would be cruel. What about....

“Me too,” Yuri says, stopping his thoughts.

“Do you feel homesick here?” As with most things, Viktor asks this against his better judgement, and he cringes the moment he says the words.

Yuri glances away. “Sometimes,” he says, as though he’s admitting a terrible crime. “But...mostly I’m just glad to be here. I like this place. I...like living here.”

They could revisit the first statement later. “Well, good,” Viktor says, placing a kiss on Yuri’s hand. “Because I’m looking forward to doing laundry with you for many years to come.”

This has the desired effect. Yuri’s eyes dip down further, to the ring on his finger, then dart back up again, before he leans forward to pull Viktor into a hug.

“What about you?” Yuri asks, as he pulls away. “Didn’t you ever feel homesick when you were living in Japan?”

“Mm,” Viktor says. He stands, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. He needs something. Today is not a day for minimalism. He turns his attention to the dressing table. “Not really. To be honest, I didn’t feel much of anything for the first month or two.” He opens a drawer and inspects the contents. “Mostly just curious about you. Though you didn’t make it easy for me!”

“Ah... yeah. Um. Sorry.”

Viktor laughs. “And then, I don’t know. I wanted to be a good coach, and I had to figure out how to do that. You wanted me to be myself, and I had to figure out how to do _that_ , too. So no time for homesickness.”

“Viktor...”

“It was an adventure!” Viktor says brightly, pulling out his favorite set of gold bracelets and sliding them onto his wrists. They clink together pleasantly as he points at Yuri. “ _I_ _s_ an adventure.” A thought strikes him, as he watches Yuri sitting in the middle of his— _their—_ bed. “What did you do, the first time you were alone in this apartment?”

“Uh. Slept, mostly? Watched a dubbed episode of _Friends_ on TV.”

“Really? You want to know what I did, when I moved in?”

“What?”

“I made a flower crown out of my bouquets, stripped naked, draped myself in tulle and danced the entirety of _Eurydice and Orpheus_ through the halls. The first night I did Eurydice, the next night I was Orpheus. The night after that I did some kind of interpretive piece to the _Moulin Rouge_ soundtrack. I don’t really remember; I’d had a lot to drink.”

“Uh.” Yuri says, bringing Viktor back into the present.

“It was fun,” Viktor says, shrugging. “I was fourteen when I finally got my own room, so my own home? That was something to celebrate.”

“That was after you hurt yourself, wasn’t it?” Of course Yuri knows that.

“Yes.” He’d been eighteen, newly-recovered from his first back injury, which had kept him off the ice, and off the podium, for six months. Six months of clammy dread, and the feeling that his life might be over before he’d had a chance to start it. Those bouquets had been from admirers, once he’d gotten the all-clear to start competing again. Yakov had suggested a nice meal to celebrate, anywhere Viktor wanted. Viktor had, instead, bought an apartment. For the first week, he’d had more flowers than he’d had furniture:  peonies spilling from the corners, irises in crystal vases on the floors, and everywhere, roses.

“It was nice to feel...like myself, after that,” Viktor says, as he slides on his shoes. “And this was the place I could do that in.” _And you_ , Viktor thinks, as he leans down to kiss Yuri a second time, _gave me that again_.

 _"That_ story never made it into any of your interviews,” Yuri says, teasing at one of the buttons on Viktor’s shirt.

“Well, no. I was supposed to attend a movie premier that week, and I couldn’t tell anyone I had to cancel because my _urgent business_ involved dancing around my house naked and drunk.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yakov suspected, I think.”

“Oh, my _god._ ” Yuri laughs and laughs, incredulous, like he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop, and Viktor hates to leave him like this: loose-limbed and happy. But Viktor also has an appointment to keep, even if he doesn’t understand half of the paperwork the accountants put in front of him.

(Not that it matters; Chris’ boyfriend does, and his help is easily secured with a good bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. “Unnecessary,” Chris had once chided, as though a bottle of wine was _ever_ unnecessary, and then promptly popped the cork.)

“Viktor, how am I supposed to cope with news like this before breakfast?”

Viktor grins. “It’s not _my_ fault you slept in so late.” Viktor heads toward the door, stopping briefly to pet Makkachin’s head, where it rests on the arm of couch. He feels Yuri follow behind him.

Viktor slips his coat on and loops a scarf around his neck. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says, drawing on his gloves. “What are your plans for while I’m gone?”

“I think,” Yuri says slowly, in the kind of voice that has come to make Viktor pause, “I’ll head to the flower market.”

“Oh? And...why is that?” Viktor turns away from the open door to see Yuri, leaning with one hip against the couch, bare feet solid on the floorboards, hair an absolute wreck. His glasses need cleaning. He’s a vision. No, better than that.  Viktor’s in love with the way he takes up space.

Now it’s Yuri’s turn to grin. “I guess you’ll see when you get home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp for [Gotta Work For It! Spring in Saint Petersburg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146188).
> 
> (Fun fact, the original working title for this was "Dick-out Nikiforov", then it was "untitled nudity...thing". I'm a poet, alright.)


End file.
